Frayed Ends
by xmaybejoleisa
Summary: They fall in and then they fall out. Something like love and death, except not really. twoshot.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: They fall in and then they fall out. Something like love and death, except not really. twoshot.

**A/N**: I was in a strange mood, I guess. Listening to two songs really. I have a blend of lyrics from both in this. Major props to anyone who knows them. Here it goes.

--

[ _Frayed Ends_ ]

--

**i. ****there are some things we don't talk about, ****rather do without ****and just hold the smile.**

**--**

She finds him standing motionless after everyone's left and headed back into the church.

His arms hang loosely on either side of his body, and his eyes are still and numb, focused on just that specific area of the ground.

She's not sure if it's really hit her yet, but for some reason, she doesn't want to think about that. The boy next to her doesn't seem to notice her presence or care to acknowledge it.

And a million phrases come across her mind, but she can't seem to execute them into coherent string of words or comment. Her mouth is unable to move, and none of this feels genuinely real.

Everything seems to be overdone blurs, and a part of her wants to simply draw back into the dark corners of her mind.

She thinks maybe she should give her apologies, or condolences, or something, but she hasn't received one today that's actually seemed helpful. She doesn't think he's gotten any heart wrenching ones either, so she doesn't bother trying.

Instead, she notices his pale skin, pastier than it has been in the last few days, and his eyes from the side. They look bigger, blacker, the dark circles under them from nonexistent hours of sleep more prominent against the white of his skin, and the black of his attire.

He's worn black before; so many times she's lost count. He's a rock star after all and he's got an image to keep. She gets it. They all do.

"She hated you in black." The words come out of her mouth before she can take them back, and she's more shocked at the sound of her own voice than he seems to be.

His eyes dart apathetically towards her direction, his head turning a fraction towards her face.

"Yeah, she did. She'd never let me forget it either." His voice sounds rough, the rasp in it so thick, she can barely understand.

She nods her head, staring at the same spot on the ground as him.

"Loved your ridiculously bright-colored leggings though." He points out blankly.

And she laughs brokenly, more at the truth of his statement than the dark twinge of sarcasm he adds to it with his tone. The laughter dies on her lips as reality sinks in all over again.

"She told me that whenever I danced with them on, it reminded her of the bright side of life. All those swirls of color so vibrant, continuous, never-ending, like life should be." She murmurs softly.

He nods his head stiffly, his jaw a little more clenched than before. "That was her. Always laughing, smiling, living."

"Yeah, that was her." She echoes emptily, her voice hollow, as she looks up and observes the drizzle starting to come down.

They don't say anything else after that, just stand there in each other's presence instead, letting the light rain sprinkle onto their clothes and skin.

And as drops seep into the ground, she wonders if the water is reaching _her_, washing over _her_.

They'll never know.

--

**ii. you can never say never, when we don't know why.**

--

The next time she sees him, it's at the Torres' home a few hours later. Her parents have only called a few relatives, and close friends for the small gathering and dinner of mourning after the services and the burial are over.

He's sitting all alone on the curb of the deserted street right in front of the house and he's smoking a cigarette, staring into space.

A part of her wants to go sit next to him, not to talk but rather, to just be in his presence again.

But the rational side of her tells her to stay in place, that there's something slightly inappropriate about ditching your best friends' mourning parents to go sit next to said dead best friend's _(ex) _boyfriend for the rest of the night.

She decides to listen to the rational side of her brain, leaning against the doorframe and intently studying him from afar as the minutes tick by.

She doesn't really think there's any type of attachment she feels towards him. There is no connective feeling of concern or compassion between the two of them. There never was in all honesty.

And right now, she doesn't feel anything except maybe loneliness.

--

**iii. when all is crumbling, steady your hand.**

--

Somewhere in the back of her, she can distantly hear the sound of someone calling her name repeatedly, but she decides to continue ignoring it.

And when she feels a cool hand on her shoulder, she almost jumps. Almost.

She turns around to meet tired eyes, and there's something so familiar about the sadness in them.

But she just can't seem to put her finger on what or whom they remind her of, so she tries to let it go and instead focus on the words coming out of those chapped lips.

She blinks a few times, nods her head surreally at the words being spoken, and all of a sudden he stops talking. His eyes looking over her features, before traveling to the sight of his _(ex) _best friend smoking a pack of cigarettes outside on the street like there's no tomorrow.

His eyes flash with a deeper emotion, too complex to be interpreted thoroughly in such a short time, something a little more torn and painful than before, but it disappears as fast as it appears. Gone in a blink of an eye, and she's left to wonder if she merely imagined it all in her head.

He's leading her through a sea of people now and it takes her a few minutes to realize they (_he_) are saying good bye to everyone, and then he's guiding her out of the house with his hand on her back.

And they're passing by his (_ex_) best friend without a second glance, when said brooding boy looks up from the rubble on the street, his _dark, dark_ eyes landing on her hazel ones briefly, jarring her in her place.

But then she's in the car and the curly haired boy, her boyfriend, is helping her put on her seatbelt like she's a docile child who'll break any second you aren't being careful with her. And then, he's starting the car, and soon enough, they're driving off.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet and he takes his attention off the road only once, at a red light, to look at her, and it's then she realizes the familiarity in his eyes.

They hold the mirror image of emotions as his (_ex_) best friend's eyes did at the burial and on the curb of the street.

She feels slightly sick at the revelation, but when she feels him slip his fingers through her own, she only grasps onto his hand tighter, like her life depends on it.

--

**iv. we're coming apart but we hold it together.**

--

They're having dinner one night, when he says he's been thinking about getting married.

It's been four months since the funeral as of yesterday, and she doesn't know how to react to his comment.

She chews the food in her mouth at an excruciatingly slow pace. It tastes bland, but then again, everything's tasted bland these past couple of months. She tries to push it down her throat, but it keeps wanting to come back up.

"Oh."

It barely comes out of her mouth, but at least it does. She wishes it could have broken the tension in the air, but it seems to have only made it worse.

He looks at her, his eyes scanning over her features unhurriedly, without unmasking any of his own feelings or thoughts at the same time. It's a gift of his, this aloofness, this mystery.

"That's it." His tone is clipped, the question coming out vague and emotionless.

She shrugs. "I don't know."

"You don't know." He repeats her words, elongating their sound into the space between them, measuring them, decoding the meaning behind them.

She doesn't say anything else.

"Okay I'll tell you why I think we should get married. And you can tell me if you agree or not. And then you can tell me why you think we shouldn't, okay?"

Logic and reason really has always been a part of personality she adored. She used to understand where it came from so well.

"Sure." Her reply is short.

He looks right into her eyes as he starts.

"We've been living together for the past two years."

"Yes."

"We've been happy."

_(No)_

"Yes."

"We've been stable."

_(No)_

"Yes."

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

_(Lie)_

"Right."

"I love you."

_(Lie)_

He stops when he realizes she isn't responding to the last reason.

"Your turn." He says carefully, choosing to ignore her lack of response to his last statement.

She looks into his eyes pointblank. "I'm not Mitchie. I'll never be Mitchie."

His eyes seem to glaze over, and she swears she can see guilt and pain in his eyes at the mention of _her_ name especially intertwined with her own.

"Caitlyn—"

"We could get married, we could have the most beautiful kids, you could take care of me, never cheat on me, never intentionally hurt me, but you could never love me as Caitlyn. You would always love me as Mitchie."

"That's not true Cait—"

"Yes, it is. It's true, and it's unhealthy and it's already breaking us apart. I don't want to lose you forever."

"So what do we do now?" His question sounds far away, like some soothing nightmare coming true finally.

She takes a deep breath. "I think we need to be apart for some time."

He's quiet for a long time, and then he stands up suddenly, walking over to her rigidly before bending down and kissing her lightly on the cheek. She can feel his warm breath on her ear, and it's _almost_ like old times.

It's almost like summer days, behind her cabin, innocent kisses against the wall. It's almost like their first date at a music store, sharing the same head phones and listening to Radiohead. It's almost like her first time in in a hotel room right after they've watched Titanic.

Except it's not.

"I'm sorry, Caity."

He walks out of their apartment with only one glance back. It speaks enough.

He's never been a guy with a lot to say by word of mouth anyway.

--

**v. in the dark you wonder where did the years go.**

--

"Caitlyn."

She's pretty sure she's hearing voices now.

Well, that's what scotch does to you, when you have a little too much than necessary, she guesses.

She's humming "_What Sarah Said"_ by Death Cab for Cutie, when the closet door opens, and she's a mess of limbs splayed across the small, confined space. Her head is spinning a little, and she feels a little more tipsy and delirious than she probably should.

She looks up dazed to a face, and she can't really identify the person, because her sight is kind of hazy but _Jesus_, he's so pretty-looking, with such _dark dark_ eyes. It all feels hazily familiar.

"Surprise…you found me." She says, giggling at her own joke, the slur in her words crystal clear.

"Well, look at you." He breathes in, a smirk on his lips, eyes scanning over her disarrayed limbs, the mess and tangle of curls on the top of her head, and cheeks stained with invisible, dry tears.

"Look at me." She extends her arms out with spontaneous fervor, and then draws them back in towards her body, before yawning and leaning her head against the back of the closet wall.

"Drunk?"

"Maybe." She replies sleepily.

"Lovely." By now, she's closed her eyes.

And then she hears the creak of the hard floor, and a body entering the closet and closing the doors slightly.

"What you doing." She asks incoherently, still not opening her eyes.

"Joining the party of one." He responds dryly.

"So now it's a party of two?"

"Guess so."

She doesn't bother to say anything else for a while. She feels too dizzy, and she's more concerned about the alcohol now insistently singing in her bloodstream.

"Why are you here?"

"Nate asked Jason to check up on you. You haven't been picking up the phone supposedly."

"Why isn't Jason here then?"

"Because." There's a hardness to his answer, and she chooses not to push it any further.

"Because." She parrots vacantly, drawing her knees closer to her body and putting her head against them, while letting the word write all over the walls inside her brain.

"How'd you get in here again?" She hears herself ask him from somewhere far away. It comes out muffled, and resonates in her ears.

"Mitchie's key." He replies casually.

"Oh. _Mitchie_…"

"Yeah, Mitchie." He nods his head distractedly, looking at anything but her at the mention of her best friend.

"I miss Mitchie." She whispers randomly into the open, collected air.

"I know."

"Did you know she was my best friend?"

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Did you know she used to come to me every time you guys fought, or you made her cry?"

This time there's no response.

She starts humming again faintly.

"She loved you so much."

There's a muffle of movement, of something moving against the clothes hanging on hanger, the sound of a head leaning against the side of the closet.

"I know."

"You broke her heart so many times."

"I know…I never deserved her. I wish I loved her as much as she loved me." His voice holds an indescribable burden.

Silence again.

"You did."

He quirks his head to one side, smugly eyeing the outline of her figure in the dark before responding, "You act like you know that for certain."

"I do."

She hears a bored sigh, and the drum of his fingers on the wall.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because," She pauses, taking one long inhale of the air they're sharing, "_Because love is watching someone die_."

He laughs indifferently at the soft melody in her whispered confession, the upward curve of his mouth not reaching his eyes.

"So who's going to watch you die?" He asks lazily, deciding to play along, while fiddling with the fray ends of her leggings for a few minutes.

"No one." The gravity in her voice grabs his attention, and in the dim light he can see her eyes are open now, staring at him listlessly.

"So who's going to watch me die?" He pushes forward, because that's what he's all about. Just testing and testing until he hits the point of no return.

She takes the half-empty bottle of scotch, handing it over to him and looks up, her brows furrowed, signaling she's deep in thought about how to answer his question.

Finally, she looks back at him, and her eyes are swimming with some twisted kind of joy, as if the answer is so easy, so simple. She can't comprehend why it took her this long to come to the conclusion.

"Me." She speaks the word gently, like she wants to believe in it with all her heart.

He doesn't reply, and silence washes over them yet again. Except this time, he's not staring at her with pretend indifference. There's something a little more desperate and hungry in the way he's staring at her.

She thinks a part of him knew her answer long before she actually spoke it. It's so much different to hear it out in the open though.

But she doesn't have a care in the world right now, and she's going to try to enjoy it, savor it as best as she can.

Because soon enough, it'll slip away again, and then she'll have to return back to the grief, to the fears, to the reality.

--

**vi.** **time and time again, younger now than we were before.**

--

It's a few week later, she finds herself in front of his door. Her knuckles are hovering in front of it, hesitant and cautious and a part of her know if she knocks, there's no go backs.

She has nothing to lose though. The worst he can do is tell her he doesn't want her here, and she'll be gone. The matter would end there, simple as that.

She closes her eyes trailing her fingers across the wood of the door, imagining what could be behind it. She's been here a number of times in the past. She knows what the living room looks like, knows the feel of the couch beneath her body.

She remembers different times and moments.

She remembers rushing in, in the middle of the night, to find her best friend sitting on the couch, tears streaming down her cheeks, and the faint shiver overwhelming her as she held her in her arms all night. She remembers watching her friend fall asleep with the sound of his name on her lips. But most of all, she remembers him never coming back those nights.

She wants to think this is the same apartment, but it's not.

And suddenly she finds her fingers touching air, instead of hard wood, and she slowly opens her eyes to see him looking intently at her, his gaze demanding an answer to his unspoken question.

"You left me to fall asleep in the closet." Her voice falters, and she can still feel the hangover, the ache in her bones and limbs from the awkward position she laid in all those weeks ago.

"Yeah." The look in his eyes doesn't change, he's still waiting.

She nods her head. She wants to laugh.

If it was Nate who found her in the closet, he'd talk to her, comfort her, and when she fell asleep, he'd carry her to her bed and tuck her in with a light kiss on the top of her head, like she was a child. He'd care for her like he loved her, even if he didn't really.

But this is Shane. If he doesn't love you, he won't pretend to. If he does love you, well…

It occurs to her that, every time she looks into his eyes, it's this never ending darkness she's looking into. She can never see her reflection in them. She wonders if that's what got to Mitchie in the end.

He exhales an exhausted and impatient sigh. "Caitlyn, why are you here?"

"I—" She stops short. She doesn't really know why she's here, but she is and she doesn't know what to do next.

He looks up from beneath his thick eyelashes, and there's some sort of struggle she can see in his eyes, but that's it; nothing else. She's pretty sure she wants to leave now.

She's never felt so alone, so small, so breakable.

She wants to be strong again. She wants to know where this is going, where her life is leading her now that everything seems to be leaving, changing too fast for her catch up.

But she can't, and it hurts so bad, she's not sure how she goes through each day with it. It's like a trainwreck of emotions, finally overwhelming her.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—"

Her voice breaks at the end, and she turns around too fast, her footsteps clumsy and ungraceful, and she's tripping over herself. And somewhere in the background she can hear her name in the wind, but it's all over, from every direction and she's so confused, so very confused.

And when she gets in her car, her hands are trembling and the key just won't go into the ignition, and the car just won't start. Somewhere in the middle of it all, she realizes she's sobbing so hard her body is shaking against the steering wheel.

She's never cried like this before.

Not when her father died in front of her eyes, not when she watched them put Mitchie's body beneath the grass, and certainly not when Nate left her without a fight.

She wants everything to go away, but it just won't. It follows her around wherever she goes, like the shadow of ghosts she used to once think she was too old to believe in.

Eventually, she takes her head off the steering wheel, at the sound of someone's light tapping on the window. And when she looks up to see Shane standing outside the car, that unreadable expression in his eyes from all those weeks ago, it nearly takes her breath away.

Because it's even more beautiful when you're actually sober.

--

**vii. all we know is distance, we're close and then we run.**

--

They drive around the whole day, with no real destination in sight. And they never seem to stop; they just keep going on and on for what seems like forever. The road never seems to want to end. It keeps winding around and around.

She doesn't mind it though. It's kind of comforting. She'd like to hold on to this.

The entire ride, he never speaks a word to her, his eyes trained on the road, the journey ahead of them. Eventually she feels herself falling asleep against the window, to the sound of the tires against the road.

It's the first time in a long time she falls asleep peacefully.

In her sleep, she thinks a part of her drifts away somewhere down the road.

And there it goes. Up, up and away.

--

**vii. i know you hate this one, ****but this is how the story ends.**

--

She wakes up at dusk and they're somewhere too green to be the city. The sky is a canvas of blemished shades of grey.

She's rubbing her eyes when she notices him reading some book.

He looks up from the book when she starts to sit a little straighter in her seat. His gaze is calm, steady, and electrifying all at the same time. His eyes move up from her chin to her eyes fluidly, and there's something inside of her aching for him to do something, anything.

She thinks she's starting to feel something that shouldn't be felt.

"You ready for me to take you home?" His question breaks her out of her thoughts.

She's quiet, and then she nods her head slowly, impassively.

"Yeah. I'm ready."

--

**A/N:** I'm actually not sure if this will be a two-shot. I need to find two songs to inspire the second part, so the whole thing can be in the same format and style. I'm OCD like that. But yeah, we'll see I guess…

By the way, don't be fooled by what Nate seems like in this part. There's a lot more to him. Yeah, just a heads up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** They fall in and then they fall out. Something like losing and finding, except not really. twoshot; second part up.

**A/N**: Finding two other songs was beyond difficult. One of them is pretty well-known though, and since _it is written_ brought it up in a pm relating to the story, I had to put it in.

--

[_Frayed Ends: Part II_]

--

--

**i. i found God on the corner of 1st and Amistad.**

--

It's two-thirty in the morning when she finally decides to accept the fact that she can't fall back asleep.

She sighs into the empty space around her, and the creak of the cold, hard floor beneath her feet makes her want to go back into the blankets of the bed. But she forces herself instead to get up slowly off of the sheets and pillows.

When she gets up, it takes her a second to realize, this isn't her room or even her apartment.

It's Shane and Mitchie's.

The room spins around for a second and nothing makes sense. It's obvious that no one except her is around in the apartment.

She looks outside the window to see a certain boy sitting on the edge of the pavement, cigarette butts strewn across the street space around him, wisps of smoke in front of him.

--

**ii. all alone, smoking his last cigarette. **

--

It's cold outside, and she probably should have worn a jacket, but it's too late to go back in now.

"Hi." She sits carefully beside him, and the grass underneath them is moist, probably from the night frost.

He gives her a glance from the side, before turning back to the front, and proceeding to take another drag from his cigarette.

"So, this is what you do at night?"

He shrugs. "When I can't sleep."

"But smoking?" She probes.

"Helps me relax, I guess."

"It's not good to smoke this much." She juts her chin out to all the cigarettes lain across the street.

"Probably not." He still won't look at her, and it's like he's immersed with something in front of them, something only he can see.

"You could read a book instead."

"Tried it." He says uninterestedly. She knows he has.

"Not working?"

"No. It's fine, when I feel like it."

They relapse into silence.

"Do you want me to leave you alone? I understand—"

"It's fine. You can stay."

So she does.

--

**iii. the wonder of it all is you see me through.**

--

The cold air prickles her skin, and in the moonlight she sees him turn around to her again, as she tries to hide the fact that she's shivering.

She doesn't know how long the two of them have been out here.

"Cold?" Another drag, another wisp of smoke mixing in with the frozen air.

"I guess. It's not a big deal."

He nods his head indistinctly, his eyes observing her rigid posture, and the fact that her body completely contradicts her words.

"Whatever you say." He gives her a half-smile, blowing out another smoky cloud.

He doesn't offer her his jacket.

--

**iv. i said, "where've you been?" he said, "ask anything."**

--

"Stop it." It slips out of her mouth, before she can take it back.

He looks at her. "Excuse me?"

His tone has a little more edge to it now. He's obviously noticed the annoyance in her voice.

"I mean—" She bites her bottom lip. "Stop smoking so much."

"Why? Because _you_ told me to?" He laughs mockingly, taking the cigarette and patting it onto the ground lightly, before throwing it to the side; then proceeding to take out a cigarette pack from his jacket pocket to get another one out.

She grabs the pack from him quickly, and he looks at her in disbelief, before masking away his surprise with a murky and unreadable expression.

"Give it back, _Caitlyn_."

The first three word come out measured and patient, but her name comes out strained. It makes her feel alive, sparks bursting out in her veins, and adrenaline coursing through her. She wants to hear him say it like that again.

She shakes her head, jutting her chin out defiantly. "No."

"I'm not in the mood for games. Just give them back."

"Say my name again."

He gives her a curious gaze.

"What? Why—"

"Just say it again like you just did, and I'll give them back. Promise."

He studies her for a second or two, before saying irresolutely, "Caitlyn."

It comes out more like a question and a little less like magic.

She shakes her head stubbornly. "No, like before."

He gives her another look, but this time it's needier and a little more personal.

"_Caitlyn_."

He says her name like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever come across.

She releases another breath, closing her eyes, and smiling for some reason. She can't actually decipher why.

"Yeah, like that." She feels him move a little closer, an arm creeping around to her back slowly, just in case she jumps away probably, and then his ice cold hand is touching her hands, and she knows why he's touching her fingers.

He wants his cigarettes back.

She lets them go, lets them fall from her fingers, and she's waiting for him to catch them, to take his hand away, but instead she hears the thud of the cigarette pack hitting the floor, and his hand still hasn't moved away from hers.

His fingers brush against her knuckles with feather-like touch and a part of her involuntarily shudders, she's not sure from the coldness of his touch or simply his touch period.

They start to fluently slide up from her hands, to her arms, to her shoulders, finally stopping and rubbing hazardously against the back of her neck, and she's trying not to breathe, trying not break away from this moment so hard. Her eyes are shut the entire time.

And it feels like she's burning in every place his fingers come into contact with. He leans in eventually, his cheek against hers, and she thinks she's getting kind of dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

"I'll break your heart." He murmurs into her ear.

He tosses the words towards her carelessly, like it's all innocent play. But underneath it, there is something so painfully true about the string of words put together, like a hidden warning that should be pushing a red alarm button in the back of her mind. It takes her a few seconds to process.

And what finally comes out of her mouth is a stifled mix of laughter and sob.

"Maybe I'll break yours." She finally whispers back shakily, the feeble laughter that follows from her lips dying away when she becomes conscious of the upward curve of the corner of his mouth against her skin.

And she can envision in her mind that infamous crooked smile of his, the one that never reaches his eyes, but always seems to catch every girl's heart in their throat. The sound of a light chuckle from his mouth is followed by a blow of warm air against her ear, and the smell of smoke and mint overpowers all her other senses.

"Wouldn't that be nice."

"Nice?" She's quivering, trying to keep her focus on his words, instead of the feel of his ice cold skin against hers.

"Yeah." he inhales the scent of her hair, "You know...to finally feel something."

And then he's gone and all she feels is emptiness and the cold all over again without his presence.

Taking a deep breath, she finally opens her eyes to the sight of him turned to the front again; and he's looking ahead to the street light in front of them, cigarette in one hand, and lighter in the other.

He's composed and unmoved like before. She wonders where the moody and unpredictable boy she met all those years ago went.

She wonders if Mitchie took that part of him along with her when she died.

Or maybe this is what they call growing up.

--

**v. when all have left me and hope has disappeared, you'll find me here.**

--

When she gets back to her apartment, it feels strange. She collects the mail, and then changes out of her clothes. She puts on a sweater, pajama shorts and the bright-green leggings with frayed ends that was always Mitchie's favorite.

She stares up at the ceiling for what seems like days and the blankets feel worn out and don't smell like laundry detergent. They haven't been washed in weeks now. That used to be Nate's job.

And for some reason, they're starting to smell like smoke and mint. She wraps them around her tighter, letting the scent encompass her.

She doesn't even attempt to push away the dreams and fantasies that creep into her mind with the scent.

--

**vi. and i've been calling for years and years and years.**

--

The phone rings. Once. Twice. Tri—

"Hello?"

She's missed the sound of his voice. There's something so comforting about the weight in it.

It's not deep and serenading like Shane's, but it's nice in its own way.

It used to be the voice she heard in the morning when she woke up, the voice that whispered to her as she fell asleep.

"Hello? Caitlyn?"

She stops breathing. Of course he knows. It's caller ID. But still, for him to finally reveal the truth, makes it different. She hears him take a deep breath.

"Look, Caitlyn. It's fine. You can keep calling. And I'll keep picking up. I promise. I'll always be here, on the other end—"

She hangs up the phone in a flash, breathing hard and sliding down to her knees until she's finally crumbled against the wall.

--

**vii. my heart, my soul aches and i don't know what to do.**

--

She goes to the bookstore one day. And she's looking through the shelves, without actually seeing any of the titles. She finally picks a random book of short stories and goes to the front counter.

She hasn't come into contact with Shane for a week or two now. Sometimes, late at night, she still calls Nate though. He always picks up.

And then through the window she sees them.

Shane and Tess.

He's not really looking at the blonde, his eyes scanning their surroundings, but she has her hand in his, and she's talking about something and doesn't seem to really care that he's not paying attention.

He looks a little irritated, a little restless and Caitlyn isn't sure if she wants to smile at it, or frown over it. And then out of nowhere, he grabs her chin, and kisses her hard. Tess reacts immediately, kissing him with equal enthusiasm and wrapping her arms around his neck lazily.

A nauseating feeling rolls over her, and—

"Miss? That will be $10. 99."

She pays the money quickly before rushing out the exit, and into her car.

When she gets home, she runs just in time into the bathroom to vomit into the toilet.

--

**viii. when everything i was is lost, i have forgot but you have not.**

--

The phone rings. Once. Twice. Tri—

"Caitlyn."

He doesn't even say hello anymore. She wants to laugh.

"How's your day been?"

Horrible. A nightmare. She doesn't say anything.

"Right. I know what you mean. Mine's been okay, I guess."

Silence.

"So, I know I'm not much of a talker either, but I think tonight calls for an exception. I was thinking we could talk about Mitchie actually. I'll talk and you listen, okay?"

She can't help smiling at the last bit.

"I've had a lot of time to think about what you said, and you were right. I did love her", he confesses.

She bites her lip so hard, it almost starts bleeding.

"Here's the part you got wrong though. I love you too, Cait. It's weird, I know. How do you fall for two people? Well, I did, initially at least. I can't explain it. But somewhere down the line, it became only you though. True, maybe it wasn't love at first sight. Maybe I was held up on who I thought was the girl of my dreams for a long time; or the idea of always losing what I wanted to my best friend. But I learned to fall in love with you. And everyday we're apart, every time you call, but never let me hear you speak, I fall a little more for you. I swear I do. You told me we needed to take some time apart. That's fine. And maybe you'll never believe me, never take me back, but that's okay. I'll be here as your best friend, like old times, if that's what you want."

The tears stream down her face, and she wants to say something, anything, but she hasn't talked in weeks. She thinks she's maybe forgotten how to.

"My dad always told me there are two types of girls out there. The ones you grow out of and the ones you grow into. You are and always will be the girl that I grew into, Caitlyn. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never got to show you that when I had the chance."

She hears him take a deep breath and she knows better than anyone else this is completely unknown territory for both of them; opening up isn't either of their fortes.

"So tonight, I think I'll change things around a bit. Tonight, I'll be the one to hang up first. Goodnight, Caity. I love you."

_Click_.

The line goes dead, and in the darkness, Nate's last three words resound in her ears. She falls asleep with the sadness and pain of his voice tormenting her.

--

**ix. and you never left me no messages.**

--

The next time she calls, he doesn't pick up.

She doesn't leave a message.

--

**x. i cry in silence, can you not see my tears?**

--

She only knocks once and he opens the door, looking like he's probably expecting someone else.

"Jason, I told you already, making a birdhouse will not make me feel better—"

There's silence, as he takes in the sight of her.

"Do you really love me, like you said you did on the phone?"

She's crying silently, her cheeks wet, and she can taste the salt, the pain and confusion on her skin.

Empathy and love are two completely different feelings and she wants to believe so hard he feels the second for her.

He nods his head faintly, eyes never leaving hers.

"Yes. I do Cait, I love you."

He takes her in his arms, and she lets him embrace her, pulls on the back of his shirt almost instinctively before wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him hold her. And as she sobs into his shirt, his hands brush up and down her back soothingly. And it's only a light material that keeps his fingers from touching her bear skin.

The idea makes her feel strange, and she's swept away with this thrill, this rush. It's been so long.

She's forcing herself to draw away from the thoughts, when she realizes he's saying something to her.

And she's wonders if this truly what people call love. She wonders if she loves him or it's all just a charade. The thought makes her head hurt.

He moves away, taking her face in his hands, warm palms against wet cheeks, and when he looks at her, she can see herself in his chocolate brown eyes. And it's so nice to finally see herself again.

And they're staring intently at each other, when the look in his eyes change a little, becomes a little more intimate, a little gentler and she knows that gaze so well.

His lips catch hers swiftly and she sighs into his mouth sweetly, as he leads them back somewhere, into a room, near a bed. And she's always wondered how he does things like this so lithely, so easily.

But she's a little too preoccupied to be thinking about that because soon enough she's on top of a mess of blankets, her limbs tangled with his. And it smells like laundry detergent and chocolate. It smells like _him_.

She tugs gently on his tousled curls and he's peppering kisses down her jaw line, while letting one hand slide underneath her shirt, and letting the other one rub her temple affectionately.

He breathes into her. "I missed you, Cait. I missed—"

Skin meets skin finally and—_oh_.

She really did miss him.

--

**xi. when i am lost, you have not lost me.**

**--**

She wakes up slowly. Her eyes are still closed, and she's not really sure where she is.

The sheets smell different, almost like sweat and love and old times.

She opens her eyes quickly at the unfamiliarity of her surroundings and the light sneaking in from the gap in between the curtain doesn't do a good job of brightening up the dim room.

There's a mess of clothes scattered around the sides of the bed, and when she looks beside her, the events from a few hours ago come back all at once.

He's still sleeping, judging from the pattern of his breathing. She can recognize it from anywhere. The quiet way he breathes in and out so evenly when he's asleep. When they were together, it always helped her fall asleep.

He's breathtaking and her heart aches. When they were younger, she always dreamed of waking up to the sight of him beside her. She dreamed of moments like this, and now that she's regained them, she's not exactly sure how to handle them.

He stirs a little, and when his eyes open blurrily and he looks up at her, she feels her throat constrict, and she takes a few shuddering breathes as he gets up next to her.

And he's trying to run his hand through his hair, when she moves closer to him, letting her hands needle through the curls without thinking. And it's only when she's already started, and he's gazing at her, his eyes clouded, that she realizes what she's doing and how it could be taken.

She stops suddenly, looking away, and letting her knees come up to her chest so she can put her arms around them instead.

The tension is unbearable and the lack of words makes her feel like maybe none of this should have happened, that maybe it was all a mistake.

"I—I should leave—"

He stops her from getting out of the blankets and when she looks back at him, she can see the driving force in his resolute eyes.

"No."

He pulls her back in lightly, and when she turns back towards him, all she can see in his eyes is something so real, it's earth-shattering.

He kisses each knuckle on the back of her hand lightly, and she leans in towards him, putting her head on his shoulder and he kisses the top of her head, intertwining their hands. They fit so well together.

"Look at that."

She keeps her eyes fixed on their hands like he tells her to, even as she feels his lips touching the side of her face and tracing down to the side of her lips, and there's something so comforting about this. It's so easy. Like a dream.

She turns towards him, letting him close the gap between their lips in a heartbeat. And his tongue in her mouth is like reminiscing past wonders.

It's like going around in circles.

--

**xii. where were you, when everything was falling apart?**

--

There's a knock on Nate's front door. It takes a few seconds for her to realize that.

"Nate?"

He mumbles something drowsily in his sleep, and it's not comprehendible considering his face is in the pillow.

"Fine, you keep sleeping, and I'll get it, even though this isn't my apartment." She mutters sarcastically, starting to get out slowly, before taking one more glance back and giving him a light peck on the forehead.

Sloppily putting on some of his clothes on the floor, she tiptoes to the front door, opening it carefully.

"Nate, look I know we're not on speaking terms, but I guess I'll just come out with it. I've been the one checking up on Caitlyn and she's not in her apartment—"

The boy with the _dark, dark_ eyes stops short, taking in the sight of her in Nate's clothes and her hair mussed up all over the place.

Something flashes across his eyes and it's a little intimidating, but then it's gone, and she wonders if this is just a common Connect 3 trait; masking emotions in a millisecond.

"I'm here." She barely says the words, but he hears them.

"Yeah, you're here." His eyes hold her in place, and for a second she feels guilty and stained with something she can't point out exactly.

"Well then." He begins slowly, "I guess I better go. Have fun…doing whatever you two were doing in there."

There's something subtle but taunting about the way he jabs the last bit in, and she's not sure if she wants to cry or scream at him for making her feel like this. She hasn't done anything wrong, so why is he so good at making her feel like she's dirt beneath his shoes?

She doesn't know what possesses her, but she's so frustrated and tired of all this and she's walking after him as fast as she can.

"What the hell is your problem?"

He doesn't turn around, his back is straight and stiff, and she hates him.

"Stop it! Just talk to me! Tell me what I did exactly that entitles you to look at me in the way you just did at the door—I didn't do anything wrong. This is your fault! Everything is your fault! Just because you're messed up, doesn't mean you had to make all of us messed up with you!"

He's still walking away, and she's stopped a long time back, and she's crying against the wall.

"You broke her heart! You broke my best friend's heart and you watched her die and you didn't even try to save her! Not one single thing! And then—then you come into my apartment and watch me get drunk and you leave me there! You just fucking leave me there! And all you do is keep giving mixed signals, and one minute you're looking at me like I'm everything you ever wanted and the next you look at me like I'm not worth even a minute and—and then you go screw Tess and you don't call, not once. You don't even care, and now I'm the bad guy? I hate you! I hate you so fucking much it's not even funny—"

His hand is over her mouth, and she's trying to shove him away by hitting his chest, but he doesn't budge or pretend to be surprised at her actions. His breathing is coming out ragged and short, and his grip is too firm, and his gaze far too stormy and bleak.

"Calm down and I'll let go." He whispers and she nods, sobbing into his jacket, and wondering how he got this close to her without her noticing.

--

**xiii. i stumble and i fall, carry me through.**

--

She doesn't know when she stops hitting him, or when he wraps his arms around her completely, but eventually she just gives in to his unfamiliar embrace. And they're sliding down against the wall, and he's holding her as she rocks back and forth against him in the narrow little hallway and suddenly all she can smell is smoke and mint around her again, the feel of his fingers gliding up and down her hair, pacifying her into a dazed state.

"You don't hate me, Caitlyn. Not even close." She tightens her hold on him, and he continues whispering little facts and details she's too scared to admit to herself.

Finally he stops, and she senses him looking sideways towards something else.

"Come on, get up. Nate's waiting for you." She nods her head dumbly as he lets her go, and then she's walking to the door where Nate is standing.

"Hi." The greeting is almost inaudible, but he nods his head signaling he's heard it.

"Come on, let's get you inside." And she lets him guide her in effortlessly. She doesn't know where or when Shane leaves, but the next time she looks out into the hallway, he's not there.

--

**xiv. and if i had to crawl, will you crawl too?**

--

He's watching some late night shows next to her on the sofa, after he's tucked her in some blankets and this isn't how they were supposed to end up.

"So Shane's been the one checking up on you?" He asks nonchalantly.

She's quiet. "He came over twice at the most."

He shakes his head. "That's pretty good considering it's Shane. He must really care about you." His words come out in lapses and fragments. "...and the way he was holding you out there, it just seemed…" He doesn't finish, looking torn between making sense of the newly absorbed information or staying distracted and denying them.

"I don't know." She whispers, feeling the space between them growing wider and wider, and she can't helping noting he won't look at her.

And she doesn't know what comes over her, but all of a sudden she's crawling towards him, and he still won't look her way and she wants to let all this go. She's losing him all over again. Or maybe she never had him to begin with.

She puts her hands on the sides of his face, forcing him to look up at her, but he's adamant on looking at anything but her.

"Nate, look at me." His eyes are stoic and he keeps looking at the wall behind her, and she wants to cry, "_Please_, Nate."

He finally does, and she bites on her bottom lip. "I love you, Nate."

She thinks if she keeps saying it over and over again, it gets easier to believe, easier to let go of another time, another place, another person; of things she hardly knows, things she's hardly felt or has yet to discover. This is the closest to love she'll probably get, and she doesn't, won't watch it fade away again.

"I really do, Nate. Don't do this, please—"

She closes her eyes, trying to compose herself, but the tears flow down her cheeks without her permission, and she hates crying and feeling so weak. Crying is for overdramatic people, not people like her. She's cried more these past few months than she could ever imagine herself doing in the pasts, and lately they've felt more frozen to her skin than not.

And that's when she feels his arms around her.

"Hey, it's okay, Cait. I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry—"

She kisses him blindly, eyes still closed, and she only gets a part of his lips, but she can taste the salt of her tears on his skin, and it's so bittersweet. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer, kissing away her tears, one by one, and the sting of each teardrop that falls or clumps to her eyelashes lessons, and she can't help enveloping this moment in.

"Don't let me go, Nate." She exhales into his neck.

"I won't." He promises into her ear.

She falls asleep in his arms, as he continues trailing kisses down to her neck.

--

**xv. the early morning, the city breaks**.

--

"Come away with me." He mumbles into her hair sometime a week later. It's four in the morning and they're lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Daylight will break any minute now, and Caitlyn can't help wanting to soak in the light and heat that will come through the window when it finally does.

"Where?"

"London."

She smiles absentmindedly at him, before sighing airily. "I always did love London."

He smiles fondly at her, outlining the contours of her face with the back of his hand, and she unconsciously moves closer to him, kissing his chin before nestling her head into the familiar place between his neck and shoulder.

"It's the first place you took me, after you convinced my parents you'd be completely _responsible and mature_ when it came to taking me on a summer trip alone.", she reminisces into his shirt, as an afterthought.

"I kept my word." He says sleepily, and she can't help snorting.

"Nate, I lost my virginity to you on the third day there."

"I wasn't planning on that happening."

She props herself up and gives him a piercing look.

He closes his eyes, smiling pensively before continuing, "Okay, well I wanted to make your first time romantic, is that so wrong? And besides, we were safe, weren't we?" He mutters the last bit lazily and she can't help laughing lightly at the way he just breezes past the subject.

"So what do you think?" He asks quietly, and when she looks into his eyes, she can see how serious he is about going away, and it takes her a minute to grasp how life-altering her answer could be, if she chooses to make the right one.

"I think…" She pauses, looking up thoughtfully at the ceiling one last time, "I'd like that."

Her hand sneaks into his, their fingers locking together almost instantaneously, and he brings them up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand unhurriedly, without ever letting his gaze fall away from her face.

"We could start over." He says off-handedly, pressing his fingers into her arm like he's playing a string of notes on ivory keys of a piano.

"We could try." She murmurs back. He doesn't reply.

She watches him fall asleep as the sun rises, the sky lighting up and morphing into a canvas of pastel violets, pinkish-magentas, burgundy reds, and pale oranges, and the shades of colors highlight the bone structure of his face in just the right places. It's all so lovely and surreal.

It's almost like falling in love all over again.

--

**xvi. just a little late, you found me.**

--

This time she doesn't let herself over think it. She just knocks. After a few minutes, the door finally opens, and there he is, and he still looks like he hasn't slept in months. His face is hollow, and he looks lankier.

He leans against the doorframe, waiting.

"I came to give you back the keys to the apartment." The words rush out of her mouth fast, and she wonders if he understood any of it.

He nods his head, taking the key, and when they're fingers touch briefly, barely, she feels electricity shoot up her arm and she stands their frozen, as he continues to stare at her, studying her face.

"So you're leaving." He says it more like a statement than a question, and there's still no emotion in his voice.

"Yeah. I don't know for how long, but it doesn't really matter." A pause. "And you're staying?"

He looks away. "Tess wants me to move in with her, but we'll see."

"Well that didn't take long, did it?" She can't help the mix of sadness and resentment that that surfaces in her voice as she asks the rhetoric question.

He looks back towards her sharply. "That's Tess for you."

She's trying to blink away the pain taking over her body, but it won't go away, won't disappear.

"Are you happy?"

"Are you?" He shoots back smoothly, and she's going to miss this. She's going to miss his musical, velvet voice.

He laughs quietly. "It's okay. Tess and I work. She doesn't grow too attached, and I…"

She nods her head, forcing another smile before sobering up again. "I'm sorry about all the things I said that night. It was uncalled for—I was just so confused and upset and—but that's no reason to say things like that. You loved her. I know you did."

"It's fine. Half of what you said was true, there's no reason to pretend otherwise—"

"Shane—"

"No seriously. Anyways, it's better this way." The world seems to be fleeting by around them , as he smiles bitterly at her. "We would never have worked. It's too complicated."

He takes a few steps closer to her as he says the last part, and time seems to slow down as he leans down, nose dipping to her cheek, and he kisses the side of her face delicately, before brushing his lips to the side of her mouth. And when he kisses her chapped lips faintly, she can see fireworks, swirls of color so vibrant, continuous, never-ending, like life should be, glowing in the darkness beneath her eyelids, and he tastes like mint, smoke, and heartbreak.

"Here's to the future, _Caitlyn_. Yours, mine's, ours." He whispers brokenly into her ear, pronouncing her name the exact same way he did all those nights ago. It's like a paradox of homeliness.

He steps away breezily and it's then she realizes what that haunting look in his midnight black–colored eyes means. It's full of longing, desire, and maybe, just a little love.

He puts on a brave face. Or maybe it's just false bravado.

The calamities that always seem to trail behind him have finally caught up and they surround him, compress him to her into this moment, and for once he's not running away.

"I'm can't do this, not now after—It's too late. "

Her voice breaks at the end, and she turns around too fast, her footsteps clumsy and ungraceful, and she's tripping over herself. And somewhere in the background she can hear her name in the wind, but it's all over, from every direction and she's so confused, so very confused.

It's like déjà vu except this time, he doesn't come find her and she doesn't cry in her car.

--

**xvii. i bend, but don't break and somehow i'll get through.**

--

Today, she witnessed the closest to a breakdown she'll ever see from Shane Grey.

It's a tragedy. A distorted but beautiful tragedy. And sometimes in life, you have to abandon things destined to fail, even if they are the most magnificent things you've ever glimpsed.

Maybe if this was a fairy-tale with a clichéd ending, she would have turned around and ran back to him, or better yet, maybe he'd have run after her, told her he wanted to make this work, whatever it is or whatever it will become.

But this is real life, and there's no going back, especially for things that were never meant to be yours from the very beginning.

--

**xviii. but in the end everyone ends up alone.**

--

They're waiting in the terminal, and the voiceover says something about boarding and flight 92049 and somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognizes the numbers with the ticket in her hand.

She feels his hand gracefully wrap around hers and it fits so well with hers. She tries to tear away any remains of what ifs and doubts tiptoeing in the back of her mind as she looks up to see him checking over his passport.

When he looks back at her, she's met with a rush of feeling, of subduing normalcy, of stabilizing and growing love.

Her heart flutters.

_It'll get easier. It has to._

"You ready for me to take you away?" He asks gently, the gravity in his voice balancing out the softness in his melting chocolate-colored eyes.

She smiles desolately, tightening her hold on his hand, and brushing away a curl from his face, before nodding her head lightly.

"Yeah. I'm ready."

--

_**xix. all we are in photographs will never be taken.**_

--

**A/N: **It's done. Finally. Honestly, there were so many times, I just wanted to throw my laptop across the room. Tell me what you think.


End file.
